


A Matched Pair

by aces



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Cigarettes, Handcuffs, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-27
Updated: 2007-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going on holiday by mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matched Pair

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place not long after _Fear Itself_.

“This is great,” Fitz griped, “just bloody great. Here we are, once again, tied up and at the mercy of the bad guys. That’s the _last_ time I listen to you about taking a holiday, Doctor.”

“It’s not my fault they decided to invade the planet while we were enjoying the sights, now, is it?” the Doctor sounded plaintive. “An honest mistake anyone could make, Fitz. At least Anji got away before they captured us. I’m sure she’s planning a rescue attempt even as we speak.”

“Who says we need rescuing?” Fitz said. He’d given up on trying to crane his neck far enough around in order to see the Doctor, unless he wanted to break it; being tied up back-to-back was not conducive toward face-to-face conversations. “You’ve always got a trick or two up your sleeve, Doc; I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“While your faith in me is very flattering,” the Doctor sounded weary, “I’m afraid it’s sometimes a little misplaced.”

“Never.”

The Doctor didn’t respond for a while. Fitz began shifting uncomfortably, trying to release the tension in his arms from being pulled behind him for so long. He stretched out his legs as far as he could while he was about it–which wasn’t very far, natch, but it was better than letting them fall asleep. Breaking free of his bonds only to fall on his arse would just be embarrassing. He could remember.

“I wish I could remember,” the Doctor said suddenly, and Fitz stilled. “I wish I could remember _why_ you have so much faith in me. You seem to expect me to pull rabbits out of a hat nobody knew existed five seconds ago, and sometimes it’s very disconcerting.”

Now Fitz was glad he couldn’t look his friend in the eye, or vice versa. “You’re good at what you do,” he said after a moment of attempting to think carefully and succeeding only in mental flailing. “You know that.”

“That is true,” the Doctor conceded, and Fitz snorted. Arrogant as always. “I’m not sure I’d be as good if you didn’t believe in me, though.”

Fitz blinked. And then he blinked some more. “Um,” he said at last. “Um. Did you just say what I think you said?”

“Probably,” said the Doctor, voice echoing a little around the dim, stone room. “Best not to think about it too much.”

“Can we think about trying to get out of this cell instead?”

“That sounds like a splendid idea.”

Fitz started trying to play with his bonds. Some elaborate knotwork in the rope connecting him to the Doctor; his hands kept rubbing up against the inside of the Doctor’s wrists, his fingers, the fleshy part of his palms. After a while, the Doctor started struggling too, and he was making a funny noise in the back of his throat.

He kept struggling–he was hindering Fitz’s attempts to unknot them, in fact–and he kept making that odd noise, and finally Fitz burst out, “ _What_ are you doing?”

That seemed to be all the Doctor needed. He let out a huff of air, and then he started–giggling? “I’m trying–not to– _laugh_ ,” he gasped.

“Why?!”

“You’re–tickling me!”

Fitz stopped moving. “You–I’m _tickling_ you?”

The Doctor caught his breath. He was nodding; Fitz could feel the move of curly hair against his neck. “My wrists,” the Time Lord explained. “They’re very sensitive, this time around.” A pause. “I don’t quite know what I mean by ‘this time around,’ but I do know that–that…stop that!”

Fitz had started struggling again. “You kidding?” he said. “If _they_ find out about your weak spot, we are even further up shite creek than we thought. I’d like to have a paddle before then, thanks.”

“Oh dear,” the Doctor gasped, and he was chortling _again_. “You’re absolutely right, Fitz; we mustn’t–let–anyone…oh _dear_.”

Fitz gave up again for a moment, if only so the Doctor could catch his breath. His long hair kept brushing against the back of Fitz’s neck, which now was also becoming over-sensitized, the hairs standing up, sending shivery goosebumps shooting along his entire body every time the Doctor moved his head. Fitz stayed very still and at last the Doctor tipped his head back, letting it fall gently against the back of Fitz’s.

“So your wrists are ticklish,” Fitz said into the new silence. “I didn’t know that. Is any of the rest of you ticklish as well?”

“My entire torso,” the Doctor confessed. “And the bottoms of my feet. It’s terrible, I tell you. I only discovered the wrist thing when being introduced to the Queen Mum, which was very embarrassing, you know.”

Fitz bit the inside of his mouth. “I’m sure,” he managed. “Hope that never happens again around royalty, eh?”

“Definitely.”

The Doctor still rested his head against Fitz’s. Fitz cautiously leaned back into him, letting their weight fall evenly between them. It felt good. A little less weight on his shoulders. He closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing rate with the Doctor’s. It felt very Zen, he decided.

“We’ve been in here a long time,” he said after a few minutes of listening to their breathing, the thump of his heart, their hair scritching together.

“Yes,” said the Doctor.

“I don’t think Anji’s coming any time soon.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor.

“We should probably try to break out of these ropes.”

A pause, a sigh. “Try to avoid my wrists?”

Fitz nodded, head bumping back against the Doctor’s. “I’ll try.”

*

Hours later, they had freed themselves–with Anji’s help–crushed the invaders’ attempts to take over, kicked them off the planet, and finished off their holiday with a rousing celebratory dinner involving a lot of excellent food and almost as much excellent wine.

Anji still sat with the planet’s leaders, drunkenly discussing economic policies amongst the local galaxy and ignoring a young man’s attempts to get her to dance, but Fitz was nowhere to be found. The Doctor excused himself from his own group of celebrants and wandered outside for a breath of fresh air and to hunt down his other friend.

There was a garden, and after wandering the paths of flowering plants and various shrubs for a few minutes the Doctor saw a tiny red glow and a black outline leaning against a trellis. He slowed his walk and listened for Fitz’s breathing, trying to match it with his own.

“It’s a lovely night,” the Doctor said when he stood next to his friend. Fitz was smoking, one of the short, thin local cigarettes that smelled like nicotine and sandalwood. He always inhaled more deeply when he smoked rather than when he breathed regularly, which the Doctor found secretly ironic but didn’t feel a need to mention aloud.

“Yeah,” Fitz said after a particularly long drag. “Lovely.”

“I’m surprised you’re not in there,” the Doctor said, nodding back to their fancy hotel. “It’s a lovely party.”

Fitz shrugged but didn’t give a verbal answer, concentrating on his cigarette instead. He finished it off before dropping the stub to the ground, stamping it out with his foot. He leant back against the trellis again, folding his arms, looking at the Doctor.

“Ticklish,” he said.

The Doctor felt himself tense, involuntarily, and hoped it hadn’t been obvious. “Yes,” he said. “Terrible, isn’t it? It’s so difficult to think of oneself as a fighter of evil when one could start laughing at any moment should they choose to attach electrodes to one’s side.”

“Good thing they usually go for the head or chest, huh.”

“Indubitably.”

Fitz nodded. The Doctor shuffled his feet but didn’t dare look away or get distracted by the ruffle of the breeze in a tree to the right, or the scent of some rose-like flower from behind.

Still, Fitz was watching him closely too, and when the Doctor blinked he attacked. Went right for his sides, his stomach, direct and determined, and the Doctor ended up somehow on the ground in a ball, giggling hysterically.

“No no nonono!” he gasped, trying to push Fitz’s hands away, but Fitz had bloody great long arms and unstoppable fingers. “Not fair, not _fair_!”

“Hey, you’ve still got your shoes on,” Fitz pointed out, a little breathless himself. This may have had something to do with the inadvertent kick to his kidney that the Doctor had given him in his thrashing. It may also have had something to do with his terrible smoking habit, but the Doctor didn’t feel it prudent to bring that up at the moment. “It could be a whole lot worse.”

Finally, the Doctor simply lay there, flushed and only occasionally twitching. Fitz held his hands pinned on either side, straddling him. His thumbs lightly rubbed against the inside of the Doctor’s wrists. The Doctor stopped twitching and looked up at his companion. The light rubbing wasn’t _ticklish_ , exactly, but it kept sending little shivers up and down the Doctor’s arms and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it without acting.

“I’m not going to give up on you,” Fitz said, staring at the Doctor’s left hand. “I just want you to know that, okay? So you don’t have to worry about it and you can always count on me. Okay?”

“I do count on you,” the Doctor whispered. He twisted out of Fitz’s grip so that he held Fitz’s hands instead, and Fitz flopped down against him in surprise. The Doctor let out a startled “ _oof_ ” when Fitz landed on his chest, and when he went to inhale again Fitz was kissing him.

Fitz tasted like cigarette, nicotine and sandalwood, and wine and humanity. The Doctor felt the dirt path pressing into his back and scratching into his hair, and he could hear the wind ruffling the tree to the right, and he could feel Fitz’s single pulse thumping fast and nervous in his wrists, and he could smell the rose-like flower behind, and he could feel the double moons above tugging the tide in opposite directions, and when Fitz stopped kissing him he looked up and he could see grey eyes looking back down at him, a little hesitantly, a little worriedly.

The Doctor smiled, and pulled Fitz back down, and tried to match Fitz’s breathing with his own.


End file.
